


Knowledge

by die_schoenste_aller_Hexen



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Bottom Crowley - Freeform, Experienced Aziraphale, Experienced Crowley, Fingering, First Time, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Kissing, Light Angst, M/M, Top Aziraphale, not questioning God
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-03
Updated: 2019-09-08
Packaged: 2020-10-06 16:27:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20509994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/die_schoenste_aller_Hexen/pseuds/die_schoenste_aller_Hexen
Summary: Now that the end of the world is over and they've been dismissed from their head offices, Aziraphale has some questions. A Nice and Accurate Fanfic.





	1. Chapter One

“To the world,” echoed Aziraphale, as they gently clinked glasses.

They had done it. They had survived the end of the world, and the subsequent wrath of their respective head offices. And now … Aziraphale had no idea what was going to happen now. Oh, he had some dreams, some wishes, but what was actually going to happen, he didn’t know.

But he wanted to find out.

He leaned in conspiratorially toward Crowley, who inclined his head to listen. “Did I tell you, my dear, I wore one of those revealing bathing suits?”

The demon arched an eyebrow. “Revealing, eh?”

“Oh yes,” continued Aziraphale, looking demurely at his fingers resting on the tabletop. “A one-piece, but without sleeves, and the shorts cut high above the knees.”

Crowley threw back his head in laughter. “Oh yeah, angel, so scandalous. Not exactly my style though, I prefer the Speedo.”

“Well I couldn’t wear that,” exclaimed Aziraphale, adding a note of revulsion to his tone. “They were already on the verge of a riot, I didn’t want to cause an orgy too.”

This prompted a round of barking laughter from Crowley, and attracted a few stares from their neighboring diners. Aziraphale felt quite chuffed about it, and it was some time before Crowley was able to say, “True, they haven’t any lube in Hell.”

“And they only do missionary,” Aziraphale added into his champagne flute. This earned him yet another howl from Crowley and more glares from the surrounding tables.

Aziraphale allowed himself a forbidden thought: This felt good. It wasn’t goodness that was forbidden, or making others feel good, but to make a demon feel good, that was a different story. They had always trodden a fine line, of course. A few centuries of bumping into one another, then the Arrangement, the mess with the holy water, and then the last 11 years—their friendship had changed so much. Aziraphale had changed so much. And now it seemed like their relationship was on the verge of yet another major transformation.

So now, Aziraphale could embrace the thought instead of pushing it to the edges of his mind. It felt amazingly good to make Crowley laugh. It wasn’t difficult to prompt a smirk or cynical chuckle, but an actual laugh, a joyous laugh, that was a rare treasure indeed. And doing it in public, as opposed to the privacy of the bookshop … well, that was a new thrill altogether.

He wanted to make Crowley feel good, in more ways than one. But first, he had to know a few things.

“Come on, angel,” said Crowley, snapping his fingers to miracle up the check and scribbling his signature on the receipt. “Better get out of here before we get banned.”

“Did you have something in mind?”

“Alcohol!” Crowley declared, finishing his signature with a flourish. “Celebratory drinkies. On you, of course.”

“Of course. I have just the thing.”

*+*+*+*

Before the night of the body swap, Aziraphale had never been in Crowley’s flat.

He’d been dying to see it, the nosy busybody. Just to see how Crowley decorated, and maybe learn what he was like when he was at home. Humans found nesting to be very important. They carefully selected their furniture, accessories, wall hangings, light fixtures. Humans viewed their homes as an extension of themselves and, as dictated by the laws of capitalism, accordingly spent thousands of pounds ensuring their spaces perfectly reflected their personalities. Aziraphale had carefully cultivated every item in his bookshop; every individual piece had been selected for his comfort and enjoyment. Would Crowley’s flat be the same?

But the flat left him confused.

It had not taken long to determine the meaning of Agnes Nutter’s final prophecy. “Choose your faces wisely,” she advised, and Crowley had been the one to suss it out.

“She’s being literal for once,” he had said as they stood in Crowley’s kitchen. “Faces. If I’m you, I can withstand whatever punishment Heaven’s going to dish out. I’m already Fallen, after all. And if you’re me, well, you’re holy, right?”

“What about the exploding?” Aziraphale had asked, with what he felt was appropriate concern.

“Probably not gonna happen,” said Crowley with a shrug. “And if it does, the problem is still solved, and we don’t have to face our bosses. Might actually be the best outcome.”

“I don’t want to explode!”

“Well nobody wants to explode, angel, shit. Give me your hand, let’s try it.”

Thankfully, there had been no explosions, and the swap had gone off without a hitch. At first Aziraphale was unnerved to see his body moving about without his commanding it. It gave him a queer queasy sensation, like being on a roller coaster, except with his feet on the ground. Crowley did not share the same apprehension.

“I really am a handsome devil!” he declared, openly admiring Aziraphale in his form. “You though, angel, you need to get with the times. Are you really wearing sock suspenders?”

“Don’t change a thing,” tutted Aziraphale. “We have to be able to convince them we’re each other, or this isn’t going to work.”

“Don’t worry. We know each other well enough, don’t we?”

Crowley insisted on leaving — “Why would Aziraphale be at Crowley’s flat, hmm? If we get caught like this we can’t explain it away” — and took a cab to a hotel.

Aziraphale practically cackled with delight. He could finally engage in one of his seldom acknowledged fantasies, and so he set about exploring the flat.

The kitchen was his first stop. It was almost entirely devoid of not only food but any sort of cooking implement or utensil. He opened the fridge to find a surprising amount of eggs and an unsurprising amount of alcohol. Oh well, Aziraphale thought, this probably won’t be for long, I can go a while without eating.

The living room held a stiff sofa, an ornate throne (Crowley’s mocking sense of humor), and a large flat screen television. The sketch of the Mona Lisa was nice (that Leonardo fellow had such talent), but other than that, the walls were bare.

Aziraphale had brightened at seeing the plant room. The plants were massive, and they sported the darkest, shiniest green leaves he’d ever seen. He had no idea Crowley had such talent with flora. But there was also an unpleasant and inexplicable icky feeling in that room, a feeling of terror, and despite the variety of species, there were no flowers. Aziraphale resolved to spend time tending the plants and telling them how lovely they looked.

The bedroom was better, with a four-poster king-sized bed wrapped in 800-thread count Egyptian cotton sheets. Aziraphale was not much of a sleeper, but he had joyfully flopped down in the center of the bed, cuddling Crowley’s pillow to his chest. He had lain in the bed each night, imagining his friend in the same spot, breathing gently, eyes lightly shut, mind finally at peace. He felt slightly guilty at creating such a richly detailed image of Crowley, but quickly forgave himself, as was his nature.

You may think that inhabiting Crowley’s body would be the most intimates of intimates, but that wasn’t the case. Flesh was just flesh, a body just a body. The essence of Crowley, his spirit, his true ethereal form, was absent, and only Aziraphale remained.

Lying in Crowley’s bed, however, inhaling his scent, luxuriating on his soft mattress, that felt dangerously intimate. The flat, and the bed in particular, had revealed a new side of Crowley, and it thrilled him to supplement his knowledge of his friend. But the place saddened him, too. It wasn’t that it lacked personality, it had personality in spades—but that personality was so cold and bleak, intimidating and dark.

To Aziraphale, it felt like a façade. This was Crowley’s projection of himself—wasn’t it? It didn’t feel like the Crowley he knew from cafes and art galleries and the park. Yes, sometimes Crowley could be bleak and intimidating, he was a demon, that was their nature. But Aziraphale sensed an undercurrent of something else beneath Crowley’s harsh exterior, a frisson of … of something, he couldn’t name it.

Or was he just imagining it? Was Crowley’s flat a better representation of who Crowley was? All black paint and sharp angles, devoid of comfort. If this was who Crowley was at home, then maybe Aziraphale’s impression was wrong. Maybe his feelings had been wishful thinking, or worse, willful blindness to the truth. What did he really know about Crowley, anyway?

So for a few nights, until he was abducted by Hell, Aziraphale had lain in Crowley’s bed and wondered about his friend. Wondered if he knew him at all, despite working with (against, he corrected, against) him for six thousand years, despite how close they had been this past decade. Wondered if it was even possible for an angel to know a demon.

Then, the trip to Hell changed him.

*+*+*+*

Crowley flung himself onto the couch while Aziraphale fetched a bottle from a high shelf. “Whiskey, eh?” he said, as he removed his sunglasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “You really are sharing the good stuff.”

“We are celebrating,” said Aziraphale, splashing a few fingers into a pair of tumblers. He handed one to Crowley, extended his glass in a toast, and then sank into his armchair.

They sat in comfortable silence, Aziraphale carefully tracing the rim of his glass. After suitable mental preparation, he asked, “What did you think of Heaven?”

“I thought the hoverboards were a bit much,” said Crowley, sloshing the whiskey in its tumbler. “I mean, first off, they don’t actually hover, right? Total misnomer by the humans. And then, consider, right, they’re angels, they could do the hovering themselves without any sort of instrument, but they don’t? What a bunch of wankers.”

Aziraphale laughed.

“And that Gabriel, what a knob! Someone twists his knickers up tight. He’d fit in well with my lot.”

“I suppose bureaucracy is the same everywhere,” said Aziraphale. “Speaking of … “ He shifted in his seat and withdrew a folded paper from a back pocket. “This was waiting in your flat when they returned me.” He leaned forward and Crowley met him halfway, taking the paper and scanning it.

“Ah, I’ve been sacked,” he said, incinerating the paper with a flick of his wrist. “You’ve got a similar missive, or rather dismissive, I fancy.” He nodded toward Aziraphale’s desk.

The angel rose and took a scroll off a stack of books. Although written in beautiful script and couched in careful legalese, the message was the same as Hell’s: no more assignments would be forthcoming, no more reports were expected. He was officially relieved of duty.

“Let’s not think of it as a sacking,” said Aziraphale as he returned the scroll to his desk and then himself to his armchair. “Let’s think of it as … what do they call it … retirement.”

“Retirement, bah! Bloody pensioners now, are we? Off to some frilly cottage in Sussex, tending marigolds, trash telly?”

“I like marigolds,” said Aziraphale lightly, prompting a chuckle from the demon.

“You would like marigolds,” he muttered into his glass before finishing his drink. Aziraphale waited, counting the seconds. If he was patient, maybe Crowley would break the silence, return to their earlier subject.

He was right; after a few minutes, Crowley said, “Thought I might at least … feel something up there. Didn’t. Didn’t feel a thing.” He took the bottle from Aziraphale and poured a more generous portion of whiskey into his tumbler. “Comes with Falling, I expect.”

“No, no my dear,” Aziraphale said quickly. “It’s not you, it’s Heaven. It’s—it’s changed and—”

But Crowley was waving him off. “Come off it, angel. It’s the definition of Falling, being cut off from Heaven. Like I said, wankers. Glad I don’t have to associate with them.”

Again Aziraphale bit his tongue. He would wait him out, if he could just be patient …

“What did you think of Hell?”

*+*+*+*

Hell had been horrifying.

Well, it would be, wouldn’t it? It was Hell. Not exactly meant to be rainbows and gumdrops. But it still rivaled anything Aziraphale had conjured in his imagination.

It was the stench, he decided, that most unsettled him. Not the smell of putrefaction and decay—he could handle those smells, they were common enough on Earth. It was the utter hopelessness, the desperation that oozed off the demon’s bodies, that made him retch internally. Crowley had never smelled like that. Maybe it was just concentrated desperation, all shut up in the basement like this, and that’s why he could smell it here, and not when he was with Crowley.

He had been terrified as they marched him through the dreary hallways. It was one thing to imitate Crowley on Earth; lolling around in his massive bed, pouting on his throne, trying to figure out what to do with all those eggs, all that had been easy enough. But could he fool the legions of Hell? Surely they would be able to sense his holiness, his ethereal life force. Wouldn’t it be blindingly obvious that he was not Crowley?

But the demons hadn’t noticed. A few snarky remarks, a bit of feigned confidence, splash splash, bob’s your uncle and all that. They returned him to Crowley’s flat, and he collapsed exhausted into Crowley’s bed, the terror he had been suppressing finally burning away, only for a new fear to take its place.

Had it been that easy? Was Crowley faring as well in Heaven? And, if it was that easy, and if Crowley succeeded in his imitation, then what did that say about Heaven and God and the plan? What did it say about angels and demons? What did it say about Aziraphale and Crowley?

It wasn’t that Aziraphale no longer believed in God. His faith in Her was stronger than ever. He loved God, God loved him, and he trusted completely in Her ineffable plan. She was in control, and he let Her be in control.

But now, he discovered he no longer believed in Heaven. In black and white. In sides. He realized the world could not be so neatly cleaved into good and evil; rather, everything was on a sliding scale of gray. This wasn’t an easy concept to accept. It had been so much simpler when everything (and everyone) could be neatly categorized into one box or the other.

Simple, but untrue.

It had been Michael that had put the final nail in the coffin. Seeing Michael blithely pour the holy water into the tub, no hesitation. “Cooperation with our old enemies,” Dagon had sneered. Aziraphale had expected Hell to sink so low—but not Heaven.

That night after the trial, Aziraphale had lain in bed and felt ashamed. Ashamed of his rationalizations and mental gymnastics. Ashamed of Gabriel, and the Metatron, and the other angels. Ashamed of himself, for ignoring the obvious for so long.

The obvious that Crowley had been trying to show him.

*+*+*+*

Aziraphale considered the question before answering, “It was a bit damp.”

Crowley’s laugh was too forced. “Damp! That’s what you say about Scotland, not Hell.”

“Their fashion was terrible.”

“Aziraphale!”

“Don’t know when the last time they mopped. And the tub wasn’t the cleanest.”

“What do you expect! We don’t have maid service. All maids go to Heaven.” Crowley finished his glass and set to tossing it between his hands. “Maids and something else. Dolphins, maybe.”

“We haven’t any dolphins in Heaven, dear.”

“Didn’t see any. Assumed they were in another room. In God’s heavenly fish tank or whatever.”

Aziraphale laughed. “God’s heavenly fish tank?”

“There could be one, right?” Crowley stretched out his arms. “Big as a house, big as London, chock full of dolphins.”

“She already has that,” said Aziraphale, “I think they call it the Atlantic Ocean.”

Crowley set his glass on the table and lounged back on the couch, crossing his legs. “I blew hellfire at Gabriel.”

“You did not!”

“I told you he was a knob!” Crowley pulled a face, apparently imitating the expression he had made when spitting fire toward the archangel. Aziraphale couldn’t stop giggling. “Shame I didn’t singe him.”

“No wonder they sacked me.”

“Oh, I thought we were calling it retirement.”

“I’m out of Heaven’s good graces, and you’re out of Hell’s bad ones.” Aziraphale shrugged. “We’re free agents now, I suppose.”

“Free agents, yeah, great.”

“On our own side.”

Crowley looked up sharply at that comment, but Aziraphale merely smiled and sipped his drink. The demon uncrossed his legs and stretched, resting his feet on the table.

“So what will you spend your retirement doing?” asked Aziraphale with feigned casualness.

“Dunno.” Crowley scratched his throat. “Probably sleep a few decades, I expect. You?”

“I need to figure out a few things.”

“Oh yeah? Like what?”

“I would like to know,” he said, forcing himself to maintain eye contact, “what would happen if I kissed you.”


	2. Chapter Two

Lying in Crowley’s bed, Aziraphale thought back over six thousand years of arguments. Freedom fighters versus terrorists. Guns lending weight to a moral argument. Politicians appearing on both Heaven and Hell’s lists. Uncertainty over who created parking tickets and ignited the French Revolution. 

He tried to parse out the truth. What set humans apart from angels and demons was free choice. Humans could make their own decisions, whereas he and Crowley had their marching orders. And by their very nature, their actions could be only good or only evil. Angels and demons were not allowed to be gray.

So he had thought. But he had been wrong. 

He decided to try what the humans called a thought experiment, and entertained an idea he had not hitherto considered. What if, deep inside Crowley, there was a kernel of goodness? A little dot of white amongst all that blackness. And what if, in answer to that kernel, Aziraphale had his own nugget of wickedness, his own black spot on white wings? Was it possible that Aziraphale’s angelic influence had nurtured that seed in Crowley? And if so, had Crowley likewise watered the wickedness in Aziraphale? 

That gradient of black to white. Where did Crowley fall on it? Where did Aziraphale? 

He’d walked around Crowley’s apartment, inspecting the sharp angles, the coldness, the gunmetal blackness of it. Then he looked at the plants, and the da Vinci sketch, and the throne. 

He thought about the minor temptations he’d performed over the centuries, and the small blessings Crowley had carried out.  
He thought about aiming the gun at Adam. 

And Aziraphale thought about Falling. He loved God, and God loved him, he could feel it. Why She had let Crowley Fall, he didn’t know, and he would never know. The ineffable plan, for God to know and he not to question. He was at peace with not knowing Her plan; it was enough for him to trust Her. 

Crowley had known all along. Now Aziraphale wanted to know too.

*+*+*+*

Crowley did not say anything. He kept his eyes on Aziraphale’s. Aziraphale somehow refrained from hyperventilating and combusting. Finally, Crowley said, echoing Aziraphale’s deliberate slowness, “I don’t know. You should find out.”  
Aziraphale exhaled. Leaving his drink behind, he moved to sit beside the demon. Crowley never took his eyes off Aziraphale’s, watching him with relaxed but keen interest. 

“We’re on our side,” Aziraphale repeated, and leaned forward to kiss him. 

Crowley did a bit more than lean forward. He promptly shifted to straddle Aziraphale’s lap and cupped his head in his hands, leaning into the angel. 

And oh, did that feel marvelous. The softness of Crowley’s lips, the gentle way he was cradling Aziraphale’s head, the weight of Crowley’s body in his lap. Aziraphale’s hands moved to Crowley’s hips, sliding him forward so that they were flush together. Crowley moaned into his mouth, and Aziraphale took the opportunity to slip his tongue inside. 

Crowley’s hands moved from his face to rest lightly on his shoulders. When they finally broke apart, he asked, “Anything else you’d like to know?”

Aziraphale smiled. “I want to know what would happen if I kissed you here.” He drew Crowley close again and slid his lips along Crowley’s jawline, up to his ear. “And I want to know,” he whispered, “what would happen if I kissed you here,” and now he moved down his neck, nibbling lightly, tongue leaving a light trail of wetness, until he reached the nape of Crowley’s neck and gently sank his teeth into it. 

Crowley arched into him and gripped Aziraphale’s biceps tightly. “What’s brought on this curiosity, then?”

“What you said at lunch,” Aziraphale murmured, lips trailing across Crowley’s collarbones and starting up the other side of his neck. “About me being a bastard.”

Crowley huffed what started out as a chuckle but turned into a groan as Aziraphale reached his earlobe. “Yeah? All I had to do was call you a bastard and you’d do this?”

Aziraphale drew back and rested his forehead lightly against Crowley’s. “I’m very sorry, my dear,” he said quietly. “Thank you for waiting for me.”

“Keep doing what you’re doing and I’ll forgive you.”

For some time they remained tangled together on the couch, hands roving over one another, lips rarely parting. At some point Crowley helped Aziraphale out of his jacket, and Aziraphale managed to toss away Crowley’s tie. “We could just miracle these away,” Crowley said, and Aziraphale answered, “But it’s not as much fun,” which earned him a giggle and another deep kiss. 

Soon enough they were both topless. Lips still locked, Aziraphale slid his hands up Crowley’s chest and gave his nipples a very deliberate tweak. Crowley broke off with a grunt. “Are you always this bossy in bed?”

“We’re not in bed,” said Aziraphale.

“I’ll change that, shall I?” he offered, and Aziraphale nodded. With a snap, Crowley sent them both to Aziraphale’s bed.

Aziraphale had a bed, of course he did; he was living amongst humans, he would have human goods. He wasn’t as big a fan of sleeping as Crowley was, but he did enjoy curling up in his pajamas with a good book and a plate of biscuits. His bed was mostly quilts (tartan, naturally) and comfortable pillows. 

Crowley changed their positions so he was now on his back with Aziraphale nestled on top of him. After a moment’s pause to adjust, Aziraphale moved his hands back to Crowley’s nipples and began thumbing them, his lips never leaving the demon’s. Crowley shifted under him, arching into his fingers, and groaned his approval. He wrapped his legs around Aziraphale’s hips, just managing to cross them at the ankles, and rutted upward.

“You left our trousers on,” murmured Aziraphale as Crowley’s hands traced along his back.

“More fun, right?” He slipped his hands downward so just the tips of his fingers went under Aziraphale’s belt. With his nails he dug in to the warm, inviting flesh of Aziraphale’s love handles. “I thought you might enjoy unzipping them with your teeth.”

“Unzipping my own trousers? That would be quite a feat.” He could feel Crowley’s fingers tugging his belt downward, then sliding around his hips to fumble with his buckle. He sat up and watched as Crowley undid his Y-fronts and reached inside his pants. 

Aziraphale gasped as Crowley traced along his length, eyes slammed shut. “Oh my. That feels rather good.”

“Everything tickety-boo then?” said Crowley with a roll of his hips. They laughed, and Aziraphale joined his hand with Crowley’s, so they were both outlining his cock in his pants. The angel sighed again and let Crowley lead the strokes, hardening with each pass.

“Oh, if you keep this up, Crowley, I won’t get answers to my other questions.”

“Even more questions? You are the curious canary tonight.” 

“I think it’s curious cat, dear.” 

Crowley withdrew his hand. He untangled his legs from around Aziraphale, and the latter quickly took hold of his trousers and pants and slipped both down his hips. Awkwardly he lifted one leg and then the other to remove them entirely, and then he sat back on his knees and let Crowley look his fill.

Which Crowley very much wanted to do. Aziraphale was plump, with a tuft of blond hair around his cock and balls, and he was so soft and pink and round. Maybe it was his snakish nature, but Crowley desperately wanted to eat him. He slid his hands along the angel’s thighs, pinching and making him squirm, then began drawing him forward again. Aziraphale bent over him so they could indulge in more kisses, his palms braced on either side of Crowley and his naked groin rubbing against Crowley’s clothed one.

“You did get rid of the sock suspenders, right?”

“I like the sock suspenders.” But he had, of course, because they looked silly if that was all one was wearing. 

“I thought,” said Crowley, clutching at Aziraphale’s shoulder blades as he moved down his neck, “there was some mention of you using your teeth on me.”

“Now who’s being bossy?” But Aziraphale trailed kisses down his chest, around his belly button, until he was eye level with Crowley’s groin. Spreading his thighs, Aziraphale mouthed at him through his pants, until he finally caught the zip between his teeth. He grinned and glanced at Crowley, making sure he was watching, before pulling down the zip. 

Crowley somehow managed to moan and chuckle at the same time. “Wow. Gonna have to see that again sometime.”

“Only if you’re good,” said Aziraphale, taking hold of the demon’s pants. Crowley lifted his bum and let Aziraphale slide the clothes away, discarding them over the side of the bed. Then it was Aziraphale’s turn to get an eyeful. Crowley stretched out beneath him, preening under the attention. He was slim with jutting hip bones, and he had quite a bit more hair than Aziraphale. He was knobby and pale and imperfect and Aziraphale ached with how much he loved him. 

Crowley wriggled beneath him, a wicked grin splitting his face. “All right, angel?” he asked, bringing Aziraphale’s mind back into focus. “You’re looking at me the way you do a plate of crepes. Should I be worried?”

Aziraphale grinned and slithered farther down the bed, resting his elbows on either side of Crowley’s hips. “Only if you don’t want to be treated like a plate of crepes.”

“Heaven forbid I get between you and pastries,” he laughed. He stretched his arms, then settled his hands behind his head, braced so he could watch Aziraphale moving below his waist.

“Language, dear,” said Aziraphale as he lowered himself to Crowley’s groin. In answer Crowley moaned, hands tightening in his own hair as he concentrated on Aziraphale’s movements. 

The angel lightly sucked on the tip of Crowley’s cock, carefully lolling it in his mouth like a sweet, and then began tracing veins along the shaft with the tip of his tongue. With his hands he kept Crowley’s hips pinned to the bed, even as he strained to thrust upward. Finally, when he felt Crowley had enough teasing, he wrapped his lips around the head and sank low, bobbing slowly. 

Glancing up, he saw that Crowley had moved one arm over his eyes and had the other hand fisting in the sheets. The demon was also reciting a litany of profane praise. Aziraphale popped off his shaft with a satisfied slurp. “Feeling all right up there?”

“Christ, I’m going to burst if you don’t get on with it.”

“What should I be getting on with, I wonder?” Aziraphale gave Crowley’s shaft one more lick before focusing on something behind the demon’s head, eyes narrowed in puzzlement. He sat up, head cocked.

Crowley mirrored his look. “What?”

Aziraphale reached one hand to Crowley’s ear. “What’s this?” he cried with mock excitement. Pulling back, he showed Crowley a small tube of lubricant, flashing him a toothy grin.

Crowley covered his eyes with his palms and groaned, an unsexy one this time. “You did not just do magic in bed.”

“Proper magic, if it makes you feel any better.”

“It doesn’t.”

Chuckling, Aziraphale moved back between Crowley’s legs and uncapped the lube. Crowley hissed but obligingly bent his legs, pulling his knees up to his chest. The angel rubbed the lube between two fingers before skirting them along Crowley’s perineum and finding his furled hole. He circled it gently, adding only light pressure, before he was able to sink in to the first knuckle. Crowley groaned, hands falling to his sides, but he didn’t ask Aziraphale to stop.

His left hand braced Crowley’s hip while his right fingers continued to explore. He went slowly, savoring the softness of Crowley’s skin, the heat radiating from him. For his part, Crowley watched Aziraphale’s face, brow furrowed as he concentrated on relaxing. Finally the angel was able to slide in completely. He rotated his hand, the fingertip searching for just the right spot inside. When he found it, Crowley yelped and practically levitated off the bed.

“I think that felt good, didn’t it?”

“Oh fuck, touch it again,” cried Crowley, head thrashing against the pillow. 

Now Aziraphale was able to work in another finger, which he also crooked so it skimmed Crowley’s prostate. Crowley had his eyes screwed shut, his hands still moving about in the blankets, seeking purchase. Aziraphale thrilled at the noises he was making. He scissored his fingers more insistently and slipped a third one inside. 

It was amazing to be able to do this with Crowley; he thought this would always remain the forbidden country. He wasn’t inexperienced with sexual intercourse, and clearly neither was Crowley. After all, they had been living among humans for six thousand years, and if he was going to do his job properly, Aziraphale had to understand them. How they reasoned, or didn’t; what desires drove them, or didn’t; what they pursued, or didn’t. Sex was a big part of that.

He always enjoyed it, of course. There was nothing unholy or wicked about making love. He made sure his partner was satisfied and left them with a glowing feeling of contentment and peace, as was only polite. Aziraphale also felt pleasure in those encounters, but he let them drift into the past to become agreeable but not cherished memories. But doing this with Crowley, seeing Crowley squirm and cry with pleasure … that was something else entirely.

Aziraphale thought he’d probably want to do it a lot.

Eventually, Crowley groaned Aziraphale’s name through clenched teeth.

“Ready?”

“Mmm.”

Aziraphale carefully withdrew his fingers and moved his slick hand to his own cock, giving it a few strokes to coat it. Then he took a pillow and urged Crowley to lift his rear, sliding the pillow under his back and angling him just so.

“Missionary?” scoffed Crowley, allowing Aziraphale to adjust his hips. “Really?”

“If done correctly, it’s quite effective.”

“Better do it correctly then.” 

Aziraphale moved his hands to the crux of Crowley’s knees, bending his legs back and better exposing his hole. He shifted slightly so he was lined up against Crowley, and when they were aligned he pushed forward, slowly nudging Crowley open. He could hear the demon breathing harshly but didn’t let up on the pressure until finally Crowley’s rim relaxed and he sank in. Both men groaned, Crowley more loudly. 

“All right?” asked Aziraphale, somewhat breathless himself.

“Ngk,” said Crowley. “Give me a minute.”

He let go of Crowley’s legs, letting them fall to his hips, and bent over him. He was so tight and warm around Aziraphale, so comforting. They fitted together so well, like two jigsaw pieces that never thought they’d be home. Again he nuzzled and nipped his way along Crowley’s jaw, his cheeks, even the tip of his nose, until he finally felt the hips below him shift.

Aziraphale set a steady rhythm: slow, deep pumps that struck Crowley’s prostate every three or four thrusts. He settled his body atop the demon’s; this way, his hands were free to stroke along Crowley’s sides, digging into his hips or rubbing his ribs or, occasionally, tweaking his nipples. His lips he kept mostly on Crowley’s, and they nipped at each other, tongues dueling. 

Crowley huffed in time to Aziraphale’s thrusts. He squirmed and writhed, seeking more friction on his over-heated cock, which was smushed between their bellies. His hands couldn’t keep still; sometimes he held onto Aziraphale’s shoulder blades, sometimes he yanked his blond curls, and other times he indulged himself by gripping Aziraphale’s arse. Finally he got his arms above his head, bracing his hands against the wall so he had better leverage to push against Aziraphale. 

“Brilliant,” Aziraphale gasped, worrying at Crowley’s lower lip.

Oh, how Aziraphale had wanted this. Wanted it for so long, and never allowed himself to think of it. For so many decades, so many centuries Crowley had been patiently waiting for him. Waiting, while also showing his kindness, the goodness deep inside him. Aziraphale had let himself be blinded by Heaven and its errant ways, when he could have had this instead. 

“My dear,” he whispered, moving back enough so that he could make eye contact with Crowley, “I am so, so sorry to keep you waiting.”

“Stop apologizing,” said Crowley, “and put your hand on my dick.”

Aziraphale chuckled but did as he was asked, bracing himself on one arm while slipping the other hand between them. When he took hold of Crowley’s shaft the demon cried out and craned his neck, struggling to maintain eye contact with Aziraphale. The broken sound Crowley made when he touched him nearly finished Aziraphale as well. 

“Fuck, I’m almost there,” panted Crowley, wrapping his arms around Aziraphale to pull him closer. 

“I know, I know.” Aziraphale angled his hips so he was now striking Crowley’s prostrate on each thrust. With his thumb and forefinger, he found the sensitive spot beneath the head of Crowley’s cock and squeezed. Crowley seized up and howled with pleasure, and Aziraphale could feel the gush of his come as he orgasmed beneath him. 

“There you go, my dear,” he whispered, still thrusting inside him while he came, “let go, I’ve got you, let go.”

Crowley opened his eyes now and gave Aziraphale such a look of awe and gratitude that Aziraphale couldn’t help but moan. To see that expression on that beautiful face, it was stunning. He could see the goodness behind his eyes, which probably meant that Crowley could see the wickedness in his own. A few more deliberate thrusts and he was coming too, shuddering with heat as his vision whitened out.

For a moment all was stillness as they caught their breath. Aziraphale withdrew carefully, wiggling his fingers to clean up the messes they had made. Crowley snickered above him. “Oh, what a gentleman you are.”

“Always,” said Aziraphale, smiling tiredly. He shifted off Crowley and lay on his back beside him. For a few minutes they were silent; their breathing slowed and their hearts returned to normal rhythm.

Then Crowley rolled onto his side and said, “All right, you did it correctly.”

Aziraphale laughed and rolled to face him. He set one hand between them, palm up, and Crowley, with a shy grin, took it. 

“Anything else you’d like to know?” asked Crowley.

“Quite a bit more. But we have time for it.”

“You’re not afraid of … “ Crowley couldn’t bring himself to say the word.

“No,” Aziraphale said quickly, “I’m not. I won’t.” 

They were silent for a while, hands clasped between them, eyes locked. Aziraphale thought he might want to lay there forever, looking into those beautiful golden eyes. He had never seen the demon look so vulnerable before, and he wanted to wrap his arms around him and never let go. 

“You don’t have any doubt?” Crowley insisted.

Aziraphale sighed. This, he realized, would always be a difference between them. That Aziraphale retained his faith and his connection to God, and Crowley did not. 

“I don’t,” he said, with all earnestness. “This is part of the ineffable plan.”

Crowley looked like he wanted to say something, but stopped himself, swallowed, and said instead, “What, you making me come like a fountain is part of Her plan?”

Aziraphale grimaced at the crassness, and Crowley chuckled. “You don’t have to be so vulgar, my dear,” he chided, which just made Crowley laugh harder.

“You started it, with your filthy talk in the restaurant. I didn’t know you could be so lewd.”

“It’s because deep down inside, I really am a bit of a bastard,” said Aziraphale.

“I already knew that.”

And now Aziraphale knew it too.


End file.
